One Moment in Time
by Can'tBelieveThatStuffz
Summary: One moment in time can be powerful. Life-changing, even. It can determine the fate of a world. What if Clove took Cato – injured, yet still determined – to the feast with her? What if the Mockingjay never came to be? [AU/Clato]. Rated T for the Games.
1. Chapter 1

**HEYO GUYS! So, this is CantBelieveThatStuffz (author) and this idea just kind of randomly popped into my head... so, this is going to be basically what happened if Clove decided to bring Cato with her to the feast. Injured, from the fight with Peeta, but still a threat. Her decision changes everything.**

**In reality I think that this story isn't really THAT T-rated (no cursing or anything) but it's just because of the Games and MAYBE, MAYBE a little bit of violence. I'm debating on whether or not to add some Clato by the end of the story (like I said most everything is going to be PG-rated, it's only T because I'm paranoid). Anyway, just my two cents. I would consider this more YA, but there's not setting for that, so I have to go for Teen. Oh, well.**

**ANYWAY... Enjoy!**

* * *

**CLOVE P.O.V.**

* * *

The girl.

It's funny how one little thing, one little detail in your life can change everything. The girl ruined my chances of winning – well, not entirely, but right now she's got the upper hand and we've got nothing… quite literally.

It wasn't as if we weren't expecting one or two fighters this year; people that were worth battling, that were serious candidates for winning these Games. But it also wasn't as if we were expecting someone who was more powerful than Cato or I combined. How did we simply miss such a thing? How could we ignore the Girl on Fire from District 12, the girl who didn't make sense in the slightest?

Cato's voice snaps me back into reality. It's worn out, tired, and, for the first time ever, I think, worried. Very worried.

"Should we make a fire?" Usually je doesn't ask – usually he didn't ask, I remind myself – but that was before we'd made it to the final six, before our numbers were so low.

I ponder this. Thresh wouldn't come after us, surely. No, but Foxface would, if she wasn't following us already. It's not like she's anything we can't handle, though, weaponless and weak. Katniss, though? I don't know – surely she wouldn't leave Lover Boy alone, right?

"Yeah, let's do it," I respond. "I'm freezing, anyway. Looks like the Gamemakers are pumping down the temperatures at night and practically boiling us in the daytime." It's true – me and Cato haven't been able to properly hunt for days now. The temperatures here are extreme.

"You've only pointed that out, what, fifty times already?" Cato says with a small chuckle.

"Just making small talk," I say. "This arena is boring. It doesn't bother me in the slightest, of course," I say quickly, with an air of pride – I don't want to make my image as a powerful, deadly Career vanish – "But… nevermind. It's nothing, I guess. Who's first shift tonight?"

"Uh, I don't know. Me, I guess? I don't really care, but since you don't like the silence, Little Miss Social Butterfly –"

"I'm not social. I just like hearing someone's voice every now and then."

"Oh, whatever. Just go to sleep," he says.

And I do – I curl up in the sleeping bag, one of the four that we have, and try to pretend that my stomach isn't almost completely empty (a feeling that I've never felt before; such an odd feeling) and that it's absolutely freezing outside this little bubble of warmth. I turn my head to find even Cato, strong, unfaltering Cato, shivering. He's got my jacket and my socks for extra warmth, seeing as I have the sleeping bag to protect me from the cold, but it's still not enough.

I close my eyes and drift off to a restless, dreamless night.

* * *

And I sleep – until morning, in fact. I'm about to tell Cato off for not waking me up sooner – I could've done a shift! He needs his sleep! – when suddenly I hear a voice. Claudius Templesmith's voice, in fact, inviting us to a feast.

"Great," I say with a wicked, cruel smile. "They're bringing us all together. We can hunt, finally!" I pause and think for a moment and then say, "Well, if it's not too hot," but the humor is lost as we realize – it is, actually, mind-bogglingly hot. Almost too hot to bear.

We pack up our things – we don't have much, a couple sleeping bags, some food, water, and some other essentials that I am grateful to have kept by my side for so long. It's not a long walk to the Cornucopia – we've been hiding out in the forest, a little bit away from the landmark, just because we didn't want our base to be so visible, but we wanted access there, for whatever reason. Also so we could orient ourselves.

Faster than I can comprehend it, we're there, and apparently – from the way I see it – Finch, the red-haired, fox-faced girl from 5 who has, somehow, survived up to this point, hides in the horn of the Cornucopia. I make a mental note of this.

I see Cato tense and I know he's going to charge, but I hold his arm tightly and whisper, "If we go now, they'll all know we're here. We'll be targets – let's wait. At least 'till they all come out, then we'll have the advantage."

Cato opens his mouth to argue but I whisper frantically, "We can't go! We're not as strong as we used to be. You have that cut on your arm–" I motion to that long stroke that Peeta had managed to deliver, right before Cato practically killed him "–and Katniss has a bow, so she'll be able to get us long-range."

He contemplates this. I wasn't one for strategy. No Careers are, really, because are lives are simple in the Games: eat, kill, sleep. We're not trained for anything more than how to pierce someone's heart with a knife with pinpoint accuracy or how to be deadly with a sword.

"Yeah, O.K., fine, but I'm coming with you."

"What–wha- No!" I sputter. I've never been nervous until now, but what will I do without Cato? What if Thresh or Fire-girl gets him? I'll be toast. "You can't. Just watch from the trees. Your arm–"

"It's fine," he says through gritted teeth as he waves. "Besides, I can use my other hard for my sword. I want to protect you."

"Well– O.K.," I mutter, "You can come. Just– just–" my voice falters. "Be careful out there, will you? Without you, I'm dead."

He nods solemnly. The mood's changed since Glimmer and Marvel died, and since the supplies have blown up, and since Katniss Everdeen, Fire-girl, has gotten the upper hand and terrified us with her unexpected powers. I've gone from out-of-my-mind ruthless, yet still satisfied, to out-of-my-mind scared – since when have I ever been scared? My name is Clove, I remind myself, I've been training to kill wimps like Fire-girl and Fox-face and Lover-boy since I turned three.

I'll win this thing, with Cato, without a hitch, and we'll live in Victor's Village and have a happily ever after, teaching the new generations of District 2 what district pride really means. Or something along that line – I haven't worked everything out, yet.

Yet part of my mind stays hesitant. Unsure. Unsure of myself. Since when am I like this?

The trumpets sound. I brace myself. "Get ready," I tell Cato. I grip the knife at my belt, the one that isn't intricate and cruel but instead deadly, sharp, and made to fly through the air swiftly.

The tables rise.

I prepare myself to run. I have to run, I will run. For my life. And for the death of others.

The tables are up. Everything is blurry.

I'm running now, faster than I've ever been before, and so is Cato, though I can see that his arm is troubling him. I'm about to stop and help him when I remember just when and where I am. "Run!" I shout.

I'm worried because I have a hard time believing he's really able to defend himself with that arm. I don't even know why he's here, why I so foolishly allowed him here. If he was a regular, healthy, well-fed Career, I wouldn't mind him running into a pack of wolves because he'd be able to fend them off quite easily. But… I wouldn't say that right now, with his bleeding arm, and his malnourished body – we haven't eaten much for days now – I'm not sure what will become of him.

To my right is Finch, the red-head, and I throw a knife to her general direction. To my surprise, it grazes her arm, and she runs away cradling the wounded shoulder. I look to see the backpacks unfazed, untouched, except for the backpack labeled "5", which has not-so-surprisingly gone missing.

"Cato, grab the 2 backpack!" I yell. Now I can see Thresh coming parallel to me and I make sure to steer clear of him – I bet he could bash my brains in, I think. He isn't one to be messed around with. Yet he's bulky, and thick, so I still have a chance. Not in hand-to-hand combat, though.

"I've got it," he yells, and in a few moments he's beside me. "Look, there's Fire-girl –" we both refuse to call her by her actual name "–Let's get her."

She sees us coming in her direction, and her eyes widen. She stops in fear for just a heartbeat, but then moves on, determined, grabbing her backpack and attempting to storm out. But I'm there first, being much faster than her, and pin her down.

"Where's lover boy?" I ask, smiling as cruelly as humanly possible. I'm not usually like this – well, the other Districts would beg to differ, but I'm normally not a crazy murderer – but I don't want to be seen as weak. Not after trying to protect Cato. That's considered weak, in my District at least. You don't protect others, they say, if they need protecting they're weak.

And if you protect them, you're weak.

"He's out there, right now, coming to get you," she chokes out. "And your little friend over there. Cato."

I pressed a knife to her neck. "Cato knows where he cut him. That medicine in the bag's for him, isn't it?" This I can't deny. She can't, either, and she's out of words for me. "You know… Cato said that I could kill you if I gave them a good show. So here." I trace her lips and her eyes with a more intricate, pinpoint-sharp knife (I know my knives). "Blow lover boy a kiss."

And she does. And the blood lands on my face. "Whatever, I'll just get this over with," I declare. "I'm going to kill you. Like we did with your little friend. What was her name? Rue?"

I'm about to sink my knife into her heart when suddenly I'm picked up and thrown to the ground. I'm dazed, for a moment, but then get right on track and identify that it's Thresh, who's picking up a rock. What's he going to do with it? My mind is in a blur. Everything is dizzy. I must've hit my head hard when I fell.

Suddenly he raises it over me and fear is replaced by the happiness that my dazed state had brought me. I'm going to die! He's going to kill me! No… no, I can't die, Cato and my family need me! I can't die…

I close my eyes. I don't want to see it. I don't want to feel it. I want to escape.

I wait for the pain, the blood, the death. And I do feel blood – but it isn't mine. I open my eyes and see Cato leaning over a bloody Thresh. "Let's get out of here," I whisper. Cato nods, his eyes holding everything from fear to pain... to relief. Since when does he care about me?


	2. Chapter 2: Hunt

**A/N**

**Okay guys. I am SO. SO. SO. grateful for your reviews. As of now I have made a schedule for when I'm going to update. However this might not always be the case, because I MAY be busy. (Although I try to write ahead of time.)**

** DauntlessClove, I've decided. It's going to be Clato. Whee! :)**

** autumn-robin, Thanks for the review! And yeah, Clato F.T.W.! I love Clato. Also, this book is going to turn out to be very… very interesting…**

**And I mean, VERY interesting.**

**As for the update schedule, I'm going to update on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Maybe sometimes a bit earlier, but whatevs! :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: HUNT**

* * *

We don't talk. But our actions speak for themselves. Occasional glances. Short, yet so meaningful. There are so many questions racing through my head, but this is no place to ask them. Not in the arena, the place of death. Where nothing's private. Where nothing means anything. Where it's your survival or nothing.

Where I have transformed from Clove, deadly, to murderer. There's a difference, of course, though the Districts oh-so-unfairly think that we're the lowest beings on Earth.

It wasn't like I wasn't innocent before, but this is a whole new level of deadly, of mean, of powerful. I didn't realize it before, but all of those children that I killed had families waiting for them. They're probably all in mourning now, crying over the too-soon deaths, and promising to avenge them.

I shudder at the thought. I'm a murderer, now.

You don't think like that in the District. What you think is, I'm going to win this thing, and I'm going to bring glory and honor to my district. You don't work out the complications. But when you're thrust into the Arena, you start realizing that what you've done…

I brush the thoughts off my mind. Cato, I think, he's been acting strange lately. What's gotten into him? "Cato," I say slowly. Carefully. We've been communicating a little like this. You can't reveal too much or too little. We understand each other. But the others never will.

"Thanks for saving me out there, yeah? I really appreciate it." It's followed by the raise of an eyebrow and a slight nod. It's a question: Why did you do it? Why not just leave me out to die? You were injured. Thresh or Katniss would've killed you, no doubt.

"Well, I figure that…," he's having a hard time wording it. He's never been a public speaker, Cato. That's more of me. It's not like he's not smart, because he is smart. He's one of the smartest people I know, in some kind of weird way. He's a genius when it comes to combat. But he's no Lover-boy.

"I think that it'd be better with the two of us," he concludes. "We're good fighters, y'know?" It's an answer.

Question and answer, that's how it goes. And I'm baffled, absolutely stunned, by his – he cares for me? He's gotten the hidden meaning, obviously, by the way halfway into answering realization seemed to dawn on him. I can see it. I'm trained to read people. Understand them: are they a swordsman, or a thinker? An archer? A knife-thrower? Can they climb trees?

But also more subtle things. Do they fear you? Are they calm? Are they deadly or dangerous? Are they hiding things? They teach us these little things, in the District. "Every little thing," they say, "takes you one more step to victory, You're obviously better than the wimps from the other districts."

I didn't think me and Cato were anything. I didn't think we were anything other than "hunting" partners, after all. I didn't think that there was room for friendship, or (as Lover-boy and Fire-girl have demonstrated) love inside these cruel games.

"Okay," I say. "Like I said before… thanks, it really means a lot to me. I could've died there. It was dangerous, you know. You didn't have to go. You could've – should've – just left me and hope you'd win for the district pride."

I realize that by now I'm doing something that's a mixture of babbling, hinting, and scolding Cato all in one. My hard, no-nonsense, deadly expression quickly softens into something that's more heartfelt and soft. Just for a moment, before I can continue masking it and pretend that I'm just your average deadly-monster Career.

After all, there's no use for sentiment in these games.

"Let's go back to base, yeah?" I say, breaking the, by now, not-so-odd silence. It seems wrong, but we've been ignoring the other person for hours now. Well, more like for days now. "I mean, that's what we're doing, but… wait, no, where are we?"

"I don't know," he says truthfully. "I was following you."

"I can't trust you for long, can I?" I say with a smile. He makes a mock-hurt face. "Yeah, yeah, I'm so sorry. You're a big boy, you can follow a map, can't you?"

"Yeah, well, you're a big girl," Cato argues back, "surely you can follow a map, too."

We're referring to this crude drawing of the arena that I've made. It's on a leaf, and it's not very accurate, but we've explored almost all of the arena so we're very lucky that at least we have a map. The arena can be a deadly place if you don't know where you are or what you're doing. Even deadlier than before, in fact, which is in truth quite hard.

"Oh, fine," I say finally. "I guess we can't just keep on randomly wandering around, anyway. We're at the river, I think. Might as well fill up our water, yeah?"

"Okay, whatever," Cato says. "Think Lover-boy's still here? Well, around here, at least? I left him here, you know, last time. It's highly possible…"

He trails off. I know what he's thinking, but Katniss is a smart girl. She wouldn't just hide Peeta here, would she? Well, she could've, but I doubt she did. There isn't that much space to hide here, anyway. Unless they're up in a tree, which in that case, I wouldn't be able to go there anyway.

"It's better not to risk it," I say. "Not without you healing that arm wound, anyway. She's got a bow, remember? You're no match for her accuracy. Neither am I. Besides, she'd be able to scurry up a tree, way before a knife could reach her. Or a sword, for that matter. Besides," I reason, "wouldn't we have seen her already?"

"Unless there's like… a cave here, or something," he says, scrunching his nose.

"Come on, just forget it already. Katniss would've moved locations by now," I say with more confidence than is inside me. "So drop it. And let's just fill up our water. That's kind of what we're still here for, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess," he says quietly. "But still, I think they're over –"

"Drop. It," I say with, again, more courage and venom than I thought possible to muster at a time like this. But I realize: it could, very well, be true. This could be the final battle. Well, that'd be quick.

"Okay, then," he says, raising his arms as if saying, 'I surrender!'. I love this about him, how he jokes around while still managing to be alert and serious. He never misses a beat.

After filling up a bottle of water and purifying it with iodine, killing and skinning lunch (and then recieving some bread and butter, ironically, right after I finish) we decide to head out back to our base. No doubt that it'll take hours from here, but we might as well get to an area that we know is safe.

It's not said, but we're both very wary. More than I know we should be. Or maybe not, considering that this is the arena and there is danger all around us. But what if it's true, that Katniss and Peeta are hiding out here? They'd be ready for action, considering that what was in the pack was undoubtedly medicine for Peeta's leg. By now he should be healed right up – I tried some of that stuff once, when I had cut open my arm accidentally during training.

It heals fast. Within an hour or two. You get some of that stuff, you don't need anything else. I'd joke and say it's magic, except none of us are in any mood for joking.

We leave as soon as we could, greedily drink as much water as we please (we have a whole lake of it to waste, and we're not going to take it for granted anytime soon!) before we decide that, yes, it's best if we make out way out.

"It's getting late, anyway," I mutter, more to myself than to Cato or anyone else (the birds, maybe? I'm getting crazy, I decide) but he hears me anyway.

"Yeah, it is," he says nonchalantly. "You know what? I think– hmm–" His eyes dart to the sky. "I don't know. Maybe, we could go hunting. Maybe… no, it's a stupid idea. We can't, Firl-girl will kill us."

"No, she won't!" I say.

Cato stares at me, expectantly. With a little "sass", if you'd call it – a raised eyebrow, a hand on his hip, a tapping foot. Gosh, if I told Cato that I just called him sassy, he'd wring my neck! I laugh quietly to myself, and am certain that right now the whole of Panem thinks I'm crazy (including Cato).

"Okay, you're laughing to yourself. Great," he says under his breath – a little too loudly. "I think Clove's gone crazy."

I'm about to protest and say that, No, I am not crazy, and in fact open my mouth to do so, when Cato bursts out laughing. "What?" I demand with a little too much anger. "What's funny? Me?" It's supposed to come out as a threat more than a question, but Cato just nods.

"You're so…"

"What is it? What am I?" I practically screech. Despite my outburst, all Cato does is laugh even louder before clapping his hand over his mouth and realizing that this is no time and place for loud laughter, that we'd probably alerted anybody within a 30-meter radius. This was no place to be reckless and happy.

"It's nothing. I was just teasing you, don't you realize that?" he asks. I feel myself blush out of embarassment. Yeah… right. Teasing. It's a foreign concept, seeing that I've never even really had a friend before, and this is all new to me.

"Um… yeah, sure," I say, my voice becoming a small squeak. "Nevermind, then. Anyway, Fire-girl never goes hunting, it has to be said. She doesn't have the guts."

Although I guess I'm exaggerating – Katniss Everdeen is one of the bravest people I've ever met – it is true that she wouldn't go hunting. She's killed, but only for her survival and defense. She wouldn't just purposely kill, for nothing, at least. She's a survivor, but she isn't ruthless.

"I don't know, but why not?" We're giddy, almost. Giddy teenagers that are going out late at night to sneak out into a movie. Or, in this case, giddy teenagers that are going out late at night to sneak out to kill people. Or at least to try to kill people. Sounds lovely, I guess.

"I don't know," I say. We kind of just stare at eachother for a while. Cato's eyes are so… blue, I think. You'd think that he was related to Glimmer. I'm about to share a few choice words about Glimmer when Cato snaps out of it.

"So, what're you waiting for? Let's go," he says with forced enthusiasm. I give him my best sideways smile, eyes narrowed.

I'm about to say "Yeah, sure, let's go!" or something along those lines when something occurs to me. "Wait a minute, Cato," I say, "What about the bag? The pack? What's in there? And Thresh's," I add, not even realizing before now that we've managed to snag Thresh's pack, meaning that we've probably just been given a very valuable item.

"I forgot about that," Cato says, scratching his neck. "I wonder what it is. We need something, I guess. But what is it? Medicine maybe?"

"Nah," I say. I don't think that's it, at least. "Your arm's bad, but nothing serious." It's true. I've already wrapped it up in thick guaze and given him fever pills. The bleeding has stopped and it's already healing nicely. It's nothing for him to worry about. He won't be able to use a sword for maybe a week or two, but he won't die.

"Let's open Thresh's pack, first," Cato declares. "I want to see what he needed, just for the sake of it. Besides," he gives me a grin, "leave the best for last, eh?"

I nod and don't hesitate to practically rip open Thresh's pack. In it is a, strangely, jacket, shirt, pants, and pair of socks. "What'ya think these are for?" I say, surveying them. They look like the regular given clothes that you get before you enter the tube, but on second inspection, they're thicker. I put on the jacket, alone, but it's only dusk and I'm sweating.

"They're to keep you warm," I declare. "This is thicker. And much, much warmer. He must've not had a sleeping bag," I say with a shrug. "We could use this. Your turn."

He opens his pack hesitantly. His fingers twitch, and I'm sure he's eager to know what he needs. He doesn't know it himself. What could it be? I think for a moment, but I can't find anything.

He gasps.

"What is it?" I say nonchalantly. Inside I'm a nervous wreck. What will it be? Obviously, this will likely be something amazing and important. But what could we possibly need so badly that we'd die without it?

"Body armour," he says. "This would protect against an arrow."

We exchange glances. The message is simple: Katniss Everdeen can't do anything against us in these suits. We're invincible, almost. I smirk. "Let's go hunting, Cato."

* * *

**All right! So, guys, how'd you like it? Usually my entries are going to be around a day/night cycle, but this was a little bit longer. How do you like how the story's turning out?**

**Anyway, yeah. Like, review, fav, etc.!**


	3. Chapter 3: Cannon

**A/N**

**Okay, guys! Thank you for all the reviews! I got four! :3 It was kind of killing me not to update sooner, but I'm on a schedule here! Whee! Okay, since there's nothing much I have to talk about, it's time to answer reviews once again! Ahem...**

**Horsegirl0403, here's your update! :P Glad you enjoyed.**

**Guest, Clove isn't going to be really like "OMG ;;-; I KILLD SOME1 I EM SO SAD" but she's going to at least be like "hmmph.. that's kind of messed up". I don't want to portray her as a heartless monster like they do in the books.**

**autumn-robin, YOU SHALL BE MENTIONED AGAIN! Lol. And yeah, things aren't going to be that interesting now, but without Katniss Everdeen, what happens to the rebellion? (hint hint) What about the Quarter Quell, what happens there? (hint hint) Well actually, not really hints, because they're not going to happen in that way. But yeah... :P It's going to get pretty interesting.**

**DauntlessClove, Clato is best, but Everlark is O.K. sometimes. :P**

**Keep your reviews comin'!**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: CANNON**

* * *

"I don't see anyone," Cato whines. "Seriously, Clove, what'd you get us into?"

"It was your idea to hunt," I say. "So suck it up and let's get on. We've only been walking for an hour or so. We can't just give up now. Here, let's check up on the river."

"Why would we do that?" Cato asks. He turns to face me, his features hard. "Were you lying to me?" he demands. I raise an eyebrow.

"Lying to you how?" I ask innocently. It's clear what he's asking. Was I really certain, when we were near the river, that Peeta and Katniss weren't hiding out? I bat my eyelashes in mock-innocence. Then switching to my normal voice, I say, "I never lied to you, Cato. Well, I sort of did. I wasn't sure if Katniss was there, but if she was she would've killed us anyway."

"No she wouldn't!" Cato argues. "Seriously, why did you lie to me? Not fair…" he pouts, but it's clear he hasn't practiced much on the topic because I find myself bursting into laughter. "What?" he asks. I laugh even harder. His eyebrows furrow. "Come on, Clove, this isn't the best time to start laughing like a madman. I'm pretty sure the whole arena can hear us, already."

"Let them come after us," I say. "They won't be any match for us. Well, except for Fire-girl, but she's a different story."

Turning to Cato, I add, "And yeah, I'm pretty sure about my assumption about the river. They knew that we knew that they were there, or around there, or whatever, so when Peeta's leg was all fine and dandy, or maybe before that, they would've moved away."

He contemplates this.

"Well – I don't know – but this is no time for assumptions. Let's just stay clear of the river, just to be safe," he says. I nod.

"Not really a hunt if it's more of a 'hunt Foxface and if you can kill her, that's great, but otherwise if you find Fire-girl or Lover-boy, run for your life and don't stop running until you're on the other side of the arena.'"

I scratch my head. "Actually, scratch that. That's a pretty good assumption of what we're going to be doing."

Cato doesn't say anything. We march on, sword in his hand and knives in mine, ready and waiting to find their next victim. We're restless, and we've been waiting for this for a long time. For the past few days, maybe a week, we've been confined to our camp, not even wanting to walk past the safe boundaries without the other.

So, yes, this is a very unexpected, but "nice," if you could even call murdering people nice, surprise. No, not even surprise. More like a privilege.

Anyway, long story short: I haven't been outside camp for ages, beside the feast. The feast doesn't count, really, because we had to go. If we didn't go, I remind myself, we'd be in deep trouble. Katniss and Peeta would've already had the upper hand, all healed-up and ready to kill us.

"Speaking of which, how's your arm?" I ask Cato. He's confused, obviously, by the expression on my face.

"Speaking of which? Since when were you speaking of which? We weren't even talking, actually," he says. I blush slightly, but Cato still notices, and he pokes me in the arm.

"Hey!" I giggle. Clove Jerine doesn't giggle, I remind myself, Clove Jerine is a Career, Clove Jerine doesn't giggle… so why am I giggling?

I realize I've been in the same spot, stopped in my tracks, for about a minute. "Um, sorry," I say. Cato shrugs and we continue hunting.

We didn't actually hunt anyone, but I managed to kill some squirrels and we

roast dinner, not even caring if anyone sees us, because by this point we're pretty well-off and dangerous.

Well, then again, anyone with over twenty-five knives in her jacket is pretty dangerous. Unless they're a total klutz, and believe me, I always shoot on target. (Usually more than that. According to my records, I'm 98% on the bullseye, but I don't like to brag… No, nevermind, scratch that. I love bragging.)

I'm on first watch tonight. It's something that I always dread. It's so boring, you know? Just sitting there, waiting, watching. It's not like I'm tired, because I've slept well for the past few days. It's just so… boring. I'm still restless from tonight's hunt, and the Career instincts set in. I'm bloodthirsty.

I don't know what's going on with me, really, because for one second I'm hunting to murder people and the next I'm mourning over their losses. I'm not soft, am I? No… of course not, I'm just being human, I decide. But being emotional is being weak, the Career side nags at me. "No it's not!" I yell…

...out loud.

It doesn't wake Cato, who's quite the heavy sleeper, but suddenly I'm very, very alert. What if someone's heard and they're coming after us? I still have the armor on, but the armor only protects my chest and legs. It's sleeveless and the head isn't protected in the slightest.

Hours pass, they fly by, and I'm still wary even when the sun's rising. I take off my night-vision goggles – they were getting uncomfortable, and they even left marks on my skin – and prod Cato.

"Hey, wake up, sleepy-pants," I say. When that doesn't work, I yell, in his ear, "Wake up!"

That alerts him. Instantly, he's gotten his sword, stood up, and looked around frantically. I can't help but laugh. "Seriously, Cato?"

"W-What?" he asks. He's dazed. Then he starts to get angry. "Hey, I thought that someone was attacking us!"

I don't blame him. That would've been my reaction. In my defense, I fold my arms, raise my chin, and pout. "I was just trying to wake you up. There could've been a tornado and you still wouldn't have gotten up."

"That is true," he says. "Okay, fine. You're off the hook. For now. But don't expect me to go easy on you the next thousand times that you make me angry."

I laugh. "Okay, then."

My stomach grumbles. "We haven't eaten much," I say. I'm not exaggerating when I say we're almost at the brink of starvation. Between the miles-long hike yesterday and that squirrel that we shared being the only thing we ate yesterday, we're both hungry. "Let's catch breakfast. Agreed?"

Cato nods, but as I turn around to head off into the woods, he grabs me and smirks. "Hey, let's make a feast of it. I can gather some berries and you can hunt."

This gets me worried. "No, Cato," I say as if I'm addressing a little kid. "You don't know if they're poisonous. Did you even take Edible Foods classes in the Academy?"

Most of the people from other districts assume that fighting's the only thing we learn in the Academy. The art of killing. But no, we learn much more than that: anything that can help you survive. We're actually quite talented, I suppose. My heart swells at the thought of my family, watching the TV screen eagerly, awaiting my and Cato's victory.

From healing to starting fires to technique and strategy to swimming and fishing, we're pretty good at this game. No wonder we always win – well, almost always, anyway.

I'm not sure about the other Career districts, but I'm pretty sure it's the same. Or almost the same, anyway. Except for maybe Four, who's Careers are always kind of... meh. Sure, they're usually strong from fishing, and most are a whiz with the trident, but they're not really up-to-par with our standards. Besides, volunteers aren't as common as they are in One or Two.

Cato says, "Yes I did," and snaps me back to reality. That's surprising, I thought. Whenever I was in the Academy, he seemed content with chopping off dummy's heads for the whole day and bragging to his friends.

"Oh," I say dumbly. "I didn't know that. If that's the case, alright, let's go."

It's midmorning when I'm finally far enough away from Cato and his noisy, ridiculously-loud footsteps and whatever other noises he manages to create. I'm small, light, and quick, and therefore pretty quiet, so I'm able to catch some kind of bird. It seems edible, so I shrug off my doubts and put it in my backpack. I even find one of what has to be one of Katniss' old snares, where a rabbit has been caught.

This'll be a real feast, I think to myself.

It's another hour or two after I find the rabbit and I've managed to catch another bird, but it seems like all the game has been scared away. Probably the Gamemakers, eager to challenge yet another tribute and force them into death. It doesn't matter, anyway, because between Cato's berries and my game and possible Sponsor food, we'll be full. Full enough, anyway.

It takes yet another hour to head back to camp and I realize just how far away I was. Berry picking isn't exactly very time-consuming, so Cato must've been worried.

I find him pacing in the camp. I expect to find him angry, to yell at me for not being quick enough, but instead he hugs me the first chance he gets and says, "I thought you were dead!"

I laugh and pull away from his arms. "The cannon didn't go off, silly."  
"I didn't think of that," he says, "but still. Someone could've captured you. Or hurt you. You could've been at the brink of death –"

"Stop worrying. I'm here now. Now," I motion to the berries he holds in his outstretched, juice-stained hand, "What have you got there?"

"Um – well – these are some Timberlane, I think. And these – I'm pretty sure these are Owl Berries, and –" he goes on and lists the different types of berries in his hand. I'm pretty impressed by the end of it.

"Hmmph! So you actually do know your berries and you're not just being the ridiculous, arrogant you," I say with a hint of pride. I'm good at knife throwing, but I'm actually good at a lot of other things, too – particularly identifying edible foods. I'm known as the Crazy Berry Girl back home, but if anyone actually acknowledges that, or calls me that, I'll pin them to the nearest surface and hold a knife to their neck until they apologize.

Turns out I was right about the possibility of sponsors, because almost instantly, I hear a ding-ding, ding-ding, beeping noise. I look up to see a parachute floating down. I stand up and jump and grab it.

"What is it?" Cato asks.

I untangle the parachute strings and find, inside the white box container, is butter and bread and what looks like a cheese platter. There's even some greens in there. Basil and parsley and some lettuce. "Wow," I whisper. "We'll eat like kings. Or queens, in my case."

I have no idea how Brutus and Enobaria managed to afford all this so late in the Games, but I'm grateful anyway.

We savor every bite, and we're licking our fingers wanting more. We haven't eaten much in long, and it's a miracle that we haven't gotten sick yet (probably our Career iron-rimmed stomachs kicking in). I'm about to open my mouth to say that we should probably save some for later – we're still not finished with the massive plate – when we hear the cannon.

"Foxface," I say immediately.

Cato turns to me and makes a disbelieving face. "How do you know?" he says suspiciously.

"Finch doesn't have the makings of a victor. Only of a tribute," I say. "She hasn't killed anyone once. So I don't know how Loverboy or Firegirl could've died, aside from maybe mutts. But he has a knife and she's deadly with arrows, so even that probably wouldn't stop them."

"Okay, fine," he says exaggeratedly, "but I bet it was either Fire-girl or Loverboy."

"How much do you want to bet?" I ask.

"I didn't think you'd take it literally –"

"How much do you want to bet?" I repeat, pronouncing every syllable. I grin when he once again opens his mouth to protest. I interrupt, "C'mon, you didn't mean it, but you did say it. So that makes it totally legit."

He sighs heavily. "Fine, I bet… um… what can I bet?"

"Money," I say, surprising him.

"Where are we going to get money from? We're in a forest in the middle of the Hunger Games, if you hadn't noticed already!"

"No, but you can give me money later, when we win and we both get home," I say matter-of-factly. At this point there is no doubt in my mind that we can win this thing. Between having a full belly, body armor, weapons, and full supplies, there's nothing more that we could possibly wish for in this arena.

"So, what do you say then?" he asks. "Do you want to spy on them?"

"We don't know where they are," I answer and smirk, "but I have something to teach you that could possibly work."

"What could you possibly teach me?" he says sarcastically. "I already know everything. Sword fighting, being awesome, healing wounds, being awesome, you know… the goods."

"Tree climbing!" I say excitedly.

"Tree… climbing…?" he repeats, totally unimpressed.

"Yeah, tree climbing!" I exclaim again. "You're really bad at it, and hey, I'm pretty much the best there is." It's true. I can climb like a squirrel. I'm small and quick, so this comes naturally to me.

"Then why didn't you go after Fire-girl? Why'd you leave me to do it? You know I'm bulky, big, and not good at that kind of stuff," he says angrily.

"Oh, so now you're calling yourself fat?" I tease. "Besides," I add, "my wrist was injured from the bloodbath. Girl from seven, or something. So, no, I couldn't, even if I tried. Well, if I'd tried I'd probably just fall off and die."

"Fair enough," he grumbles. "Fine, teach me, oh master."

And so I do. It's hard at first – for the first hour he kept falling off and I was actually pretty worried that he was badly hurt – but then he started to get the hang of it, climbing higher and faster. His weight was a problem – he wasn't fat, just very muscular – but I taught him to steer clear of the weaker branches. At the end of the day, he might not have been the little girl from Eleven, but I wouldn't say he was bad.

Night had fallen, and we still had leftovers from our breakfast. I wouldn't say slightly smelly, spoiled cheese and soggy bread was the most appetizing thing ever, but it was surprisingly still pretty good. After eating we got ready to sleep – it was the unspoken rule that Cato would keep watch again, since I had done so last night – when I suddenly said, "How do you want to sleep in a tree?"

"Sleep in a tree? What?" he asks, bewildered.

"Yeah, silly," I answer, as if saying 'Doh!'. "It's not that hard, you know, and it's actually pretty comfy. We don't even need to take watches 'cause we'll be hidden from everybody else, far up in the tree line."

"I don't know about this –"

"Don't worry!" I say. "Just pick a branch high up and tie yourself and your sleeping bag to the trunk."

"You're sounding really sure of yourself, princess," he says, "but is this really –?"

"Yes, yes it is!" I say. I'm not entirely sure of it, either, but it's better than not getting enough sleep. I sigh heavily. "Look, the finale'll be tomorrow. We need our rest."

It's only that, the mention of combat and winning, that finally gets him accepting my offer. "Fine, fine, fine," he says, and then adds jokingly, "But if I wake up and I'm dangling ten feet off the ground with a rope keeping me in the air –"

"You won't," I say. I give him a hug and we quickly doze off, dreaming of victory and riches.

* * *

**Okay, that's all for this chapter! Tune in on wednesday for the finale of the 74th Annual Hunger Games! Make sure to leave a review, even if you're a guest, about what you would like to see/hear/whatever! I listen to ALL reviews, I promise! :)**

**And don't forget to fav/follow! See you guys on Wednesday!**


	4. Chapter 4: Victor

**Okay, so for the past episode or two this has all been boring filler stuff, to stay true to the book and all of that while the star-crossed lovers were uh, busy (making out). So things will definitely become more interesting in this chapter! Thoughts, anyone?**

**Only one review? D: Fine, I'll have to make do with this pitiful haul. C'mon guys, if you liked, give me your thoughts! It won't hurt, it'll get you a mention, and it's fast! AND it makes my day! C'mon, please? :(**

** DauntlessClove I'm not a shipper, it's just that some are decent if they're well written :P I do like Clato though, a lot. So yep.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: VICTOR**

* * *

I woke up expecting the morning, for the sunbeams to shine on my face, to feel the hot air as opposed to the frigid air of the night.

But no. I groan internally. It's still dark, extremely so, and I'm wondering now whether I was sleeping full five or six hours and it just looks dark, or did I get woken up by something–

I yawn lazily, still in full groggy-sleep mode, and look down. I'm at least 30 feet up, just in case Fire-girl does find me, so I'll be able to react quickly enough. But what I didn't expect is a coal-black mutt gnawing at the tree, slowly climbing its way up. I don't give it credit for being the most agile mutt ever, but, hey, at least it's trying, right?

Then I remember exactly who I am and where I am and what that mutt's trying to do, and there's only one thought.

RUN.

I untie my rope, screaming, "Cato!" wondering whether he's awake or not, climbing down as quick as humanly possible, and just running. Grabbing my knives.  
"Cato! Cato! Where are you? They're mutts!" the desperation in my voice is obvious.

And then I think of something horrible. What if he already died? What if the cannon woke me up and I didn't realize it? "Cato!" I yell one last time, still running for my life and still with the mutts at my heels.

There's four now, chasing me. One that's red-coated with blue eyes, shiny orbs that seem to carry wisdom, another with a chocolate-brown coat and black eyes as cold as steel. And a smaller one, too, that looks a little like the other dog that's now side by side. But she's smaller, much smaller, and she looks frail.

I try not to gasp as it hits me. These are the tributes. Foxface, the girl from – what was it? Six? Seven? That I murdered at the cornucopia, in the bloodbath – and Rue. Little tiny Rue, that we murdered. Honestly, I'm not guilty about it, because she wouldn't become a victor anytime soon, but it would be nice if she had had a chance at life, at least. She was too young to be reaped. At least, for 11, where nobody's trained.

And then I hear it.

He's wheezing, and he's coughing, and there's no doubt in my mind that he's injured, but I hear Cato yelling "Clove! Clove!"

"I'm here!" I yell, although he obviously doesn't know where "here" is. "Nevermind, just – get to the Cornucopia! Now!"

I said that for two reasons. One, that's where the final battle almost always is, and two, The cold slippery metal of the cornucopia will be quite the challenge for the mutts, whereas I'm a born climber.

Slowly, the mutts still chasing me and losing my sense of direction, I make my way towards the Cornucopia. Roughly, at least. By the time I'm there I see Cato, panting, with a gash in his stomach. It's not big enough to be a real threat, but it's going to slow him down, definitely.

I'd like to sit down, relax, have a cup of tea, talk about training and all of that, maybe give him a friendly hug. But there's no time for that here. As a team, though, we're much better at hunting. A knife takes out Foxface, and a sword, the boy from nine. Another knife to Rue. How ironic. And slowly, I can see them, emerging; Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers, looking ready for a fight.

They're too far for me to possibly send a knife to, and an arrow could probably get me before I could know it, but it's clear they're not focusing on us. I don't even know if they've noticed we're here.

What they are focused on, however, are the six or seven mutts that are currently after them. "That's not going to be pretty," I say with a small chuckle. More seem to be materializing from the ground. But it turns out that Peeta's decent with a knife, and, as expected, Katniss's amazing with a bow, so they're turning out okay. But they're still struggling, and it's when Peeta gets a bite to the leg when they start really getting bad.

See, the mutts are strong. Only fatal injuries, it seems, actually affect them. And although Katniss has taken out about five or six mutts, there are a lot left, seeing as though they're only now focusing on them instead of us, now that we're unreachable. I almost pity her when the dog bites her in the foot, and another in the arm.

And then I hear the cannon.

"Pe–Peeta!" She sobs, and she's not even bothering fighting anymore. "Peeta!"

I don't know what was between them – come on, love? – but it's obvious she's grief stricken. Another bite, to the stomach. She's howling now, crying out his name. It's terrible to watch.

I slide down the Cornucopia, determined, run towards her, and ready a knife. The mutts are so engrossed in chewing off little bits of Katniss, and she's too busy crying, that she only notices me when I hold her hand. I'm not one for pitying, but this would be me if Cato died, and she obviously did care for him a lot, no matter if it was love or friendship.

She's almost dead now and the mutts engulf her. Such a terrible death, I think. Not honorable in the slightest, and painful too, although we Careers are oblivious to pain.

"I'm sorry," I say, and all she can do is nod numbly, "but I have to win."

And then the knife finds her heart.

* * *

I don't even realize she's dead, really dead, even after the cannon goes off and after the mutts disappear into thin air. I don't realize we won until Cato hugs me.

And then it all comes back. "We won," I whisper softly. Now that it's finally happened, my life's wish, what I've been training for for so long, it's so surreal. I can only imagine how it will feel in the interviews, with all the fame and the money and the – oh, it'll be wonderful.

"Yes," Cato says, "we won." His voice is filled with pride and passion, but there's something else.

Doubt.

"What's wrong, Cato?" I ask quietly. And then I realize it, too. Where's the hovercraft, ready to pick us up? Where is Claudius Templesmith, announcing the winners? I start shaking myself, sitting on the floor to contain myself. "What happened? Are we now winners? Will we stay here forever?" despite what every Career says, what every Career will tell you right after they won, this isn't a pleasant place. It's the stuff of nightmares, this arena.

It's death and blood. It's not what everyone says it is. It's freedom or death. Kill or be killed.

I'm not saying I'm not a Career anymore, that I don't believe in what I have lived through, what I have dreamed to be for what seems like forever. It's just that this is not all that it is lived up to. These couple of days have been terrible, and they seem like an eternity.

I don't want to live another one.

Then I hear his voice. Claudius's.

After watching so many Hunger Games, his voice is comforting, almost. A familiar figure in this vast, cruel arena. "After studying of the rule book, we have come to decide that the previous rule change has been.. revoked.. good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

"I can't kill you!" I burst out. "I just can't. You're my…" I don't know what do call him, really. Is he an acquaintance? A hunting partner, in some way or another? No, I decide, he's neither of that. "Friend," I decide.

He tries to mask the hurt on his face.

"I can't kill you, either," he says. "Clove, I –"

"Shh!" I say. Then something comes to me. I take out a knife. "Take out your sword," I say. He does, but he seems confused. "Put it at my chest," I say. He doesn't budge. I hiss at him, "Do it, I have a plan," and he does.

I put my knife to his too. And say loudly, "For district pride!" and he repeats weakly.

And just as I thought, the hovercraft comes marching in, and Claudius Templesmith's voice, too. "For district pride, right?" Cato asks. He pronounces each word with meaning, each syllable loaded with emotions. His message is clear: did you know?

"Yes," I answer flatly. That's universal.

* * *

I don't know what I've gotten myself into.

The light, it shines on my face, and I can hear a slight beeping. I fidget around quickly, trying to get out, and it seems that there's something my arm. For some reason, though, I'm not strong enough to pull it out – since when did this happen? And there's a scent, a scent of something that's too familiar to me, but something beautiful, too.

But the scent of blood is too strong to be masked.

"Hello, Miss Jerine," I hear a voice saying, and I look to see him. President Snow, in all his glory. I quickly bow, showing my proper respects, and I hear him laugh. "No need for formalities, Clove."

"Oh, but there are! I've been dreaming to meet you for ages," I say. It's true; in some of the poorer districts, they frown upon Snow and say that he shouldn't be president (well, they don't actually, but that's what they want to say if they could say it without having an accident arranged) but in the richer, Career districts, he is almost a god.

"Let's not lie, now, shall we, Miss?" his cold eyes almost burn through my skull. I nod numbly. "What were you thinking?"

"When I took out my knife?" I asked. He nods impatiently. "I was thinking that if I was to die, than I'd rather die in an honorable way, rather than kill my friend behind his back." It's true, partly. If that wasn't going to work and they would really risk losing a victor, I'd rather commit suicide. It's considered extremely dishonorable to just sneak up and kill someone, for instance, in their sleep, while you are to be guarding them.

He searches my face, obviously trying to find the lie, but it's the honest was always the risk of not being stopped, to be forced to kill the only person who understands me, that I have actually somewhat come to like.

"I believe you," he says, "but only partly. Are you sure there was no ulterior motive in this?"

"A little, I guess," I answer again. I'm scared that I'm being a little too cool, too casual, to act around the President, the one who helps all and is good. He raises his eyebrow. "I knew vaguely in my mind that there was a chance that maybe we'd be stopped. But I didn't imagine that we'd be spared."

Again, this was only partly true.

"I believe that you are telling the truth," he says warily, "so therefore carry on. But remember, Miss Clove," he smiles in a grandfatherly way, "the walls have ears."

I shudder. As he begins to leave, I ask him, "Where's Cato?" I'm too groggy to actually care that I'm asking the President some stupid question that I could just ask the nurse, but he smiles again and says, "Room to the left, honey."

It's creepy, how he talks. How he acts. But nevertheless he's good, right? He's just looking out for the citizens of Panem. He must've thought that I was engaging rebellion, or something of the sort. I relax a little bit, thinking that everything's been cleared up and now it's fine, there's no need to worry.

"Cato," I call sleepily, "Where are you?" one of the nurses pass by – a strange girl with spiky blue hair and half of her face dyed yellow – and I ask her, "Can I go to Cato?"

She's hesitant, at first, but after chatting with another nurse she decides to wheel in my hospital bed. I'm not injured anymore, but I feel weak, very much so. Maybe even enough to not be able to walk. Anyway, I'm glad that this was taken into account because I didn't realize before how tired and fragile I was.

"Cato?" I ask again, now that I'm in another room. I move my head, although it hurts, and find him one bed to the left of me.

"Clove!" he says. I'd hug him but it seems that I'm stuck here for now, so that I can't move much. I don't want to, anyway, because the hospital bed is strangely warm and comfortable.

"We won. We really won, and we did it together," I say with all of the energy and happiness I can muster, which isn't really a lot. Cato nods. He got the worst of the injuries, so it seems that he's worse off, but he's still stronger than me, so he's, somehow, better off.

"I can't believe it," Cato says in pure joy. "I bet it's going to be just like I dreamed."

"Do you think I'll live next to Enobaria?" I joke, laughing. In Two, Enobaria Stone is respected greatly, being one of the strongest, most talented victors there ever were, but she's also kind of… well, weird. With her coal-black hair and eyes, and her menacing pointy teeth, on top of being a better knife-thrower than I could ever be, she's not someone you would want to mess around with.

"I don't know," Cato says, "but I think you'd get along well."

I laugh. I don't think, strangely, that I've ever laughed this much before. Cato's something special.

* * *

**Alright! So, yeah, thoughts? Reviews, anyone? REVIEWS? Anyway, yeah, thanks for reading, and also:**

**A) Today's my birthday! Yaaaaaay!**

**B) Oooh! What shall happen to the rebellion? I don't know, maybe (CENSORED FOR SPOILER ALERT)... and that's how Dobby died. *wipes tear from eye***


	5. Chapter 5: Neverending

**Aww yeah! Okay, so we've got some draaaamaaaaaa in here and yeah, this is going to be about something Enobaria told her. This is a time jump for like a week (don't worry, I didn't just skip 6 months on ya XD) **

**Anyway, review time! Ahem...**

** DauntlessClove I know, you know people are READING it but you start going insane like "AAAFIHOGHH! NOBODY LIKES MAH STOWEYY ;-; *cries self to sleep*" after a while. Anyway thanks for reviewing (And bein' FAITHFUL :P)**

** Kentwell7 Actually, your english is pretty good for you being foreign! Anyway, thanks! And yeah... Katniss, so much for your loving heart and all that... Cato was just being torn apart by wolves, painfully, and after an hour of you and Peeta making out or whatever you're finally like, "Hmm, I think he's in pain" and then pretend you're being nice by FINALLY killing him... Anyway, whatever... **

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: NEVERENDING**

* * *

**_ONE WEEK LATER_**

* * *

We moved in as soon as we could, me and my family.

I live, now, in a beautiful… house? No, that's too simple a word. Mansion would be more like it. It's five stories high and beautifully furnished. Of course, normally the houses aren't as fancy, but special donation money has gone into making the victors' homes and lives the best they could possibly be.

Cato's house is next to mine. It's almost an exact duplicate, and I'd probably confuse the two if it wasn't for the large sign on top of the door: "RESIDENT CATO NETENTO". Even then, occasionally I oh-so-rudely barge into his home, but it's not like anyone's there, anyway, except for Cato. He comes from a rich, talented family of victors, so they have their own houses.

I sigh as I come home after a long day. I'd expect, after winning, to be pardoned from Academy training for – well, forever, really. I hadn't expected to ever set foot in that Academy as a student.

But apparently, they have a totally separate line of training especially for victors. They even have some fancy Capitol trainer. I don't know how he got there, since technically training's illegal and so is inter-district transportation, but whatever.

Anyway, point is, life goes on. It's not even much different, except for the fact that people don't really mess with me like they did in the Academy. Sure, there's always that one guy that doesn't really think about who it is that he's jumping on and repeatedly punching, but all I do is give him a glare and say something along the lines of "You should be ashamed of yourself, attacking a victor" and he starts kissing my feet and saying he's sorry.

I don't have that many family members, just a twelve-year-old sister that's bent on volunteering – she reminds me of myself when I was her age – and a mother. Honestly, after going through the Games I can't say that I'd want to relive it, the constant fear of death and that your allies will just murder you in your sleep or something?

I have to admit, though, the rewards of surviving through that are not shabby, not at all. Like pretty much all Careers, I'm living it up. I can't wait for the victory tour or even the interviews that are to come. I love it all.

Everything about this mansion screams, "fancy!". Diamond chandeliers (from local sellers in Two), those fancy-yet-kind of stupid, ridiculous showers that you can only find elsewhere in maybe victor's houses in One, or the Capitol. Velvet furniture and woolen rugs. Even the clothes that they've provided (again, courtesy of the donation-charity-victor fund thing that everyone donates to) are just my size and type, although I'm not one for dressing up and doing makeup and wearing pink dresses. We have a huge television and even a phone, which is silly because who would we call outside of those in the Capitol or those who are victors or some of the richer of District Two? Maybe Cato would use it, to talk to his family, but they don't live very far away, either. They live at the other side of victor's village.

There's a garden outside, and for some reason I've taken it upon myself to plant some seeds and watering them each day, although, come on, we have all the food and money that I need. Still, fresh-grown plants are much tastier than the months-old kind from the Capitol, although everyone claims they taste the same.

I'm on the porch, reading a book, now. It's summertime and training isn't in full swing yet, and it's not even full-time yet, seeing that everyone's:

A) Busy kissing the victors' feet (Cato and I's, at least)

B) Sweaty and tired

C) Winding down from the Games and the intense training in the spring.

So for once I'm glad that I don't have to run for miles in the morning, that I don't have to lift weights and practice with knives or swords or take specialty classes like medicine or tracking. Sometimes it's just nice to sit and relax and forget about the trauma. Well, for me, that is. My mom's usually just yelling at me for being lazy and my sister's usually just at training working her butt off to become "just like me". I guess I'm her idol, or something. Would I still have been if I died in the Games?

No, I think, I shouldn't think like that. The Games, for me… are bittersweet. The arena itself isn't as glorious as it seems to everyone, but the prizes certainly are. Everyone knows my name. I live in a mansion. But is that enough?

"Catooo!" I yell. The sound echoes through the long corridors of his house, which seem even bigger than mine without family crowding it. We haven't really talked much since the victory, although you'd think that by now we'd be BFFs or something (not happening. Just… no). I guess we're both kind of quiet when we're not in life-death situations and we're both also kind of recovering from murdering innocent children.

I hear loud footsteps echoing down and then finally see him coming down. "Heya," he says, "I see you finally came down to the Cato cave."

"No, I see you finally came down. Literally," I say, rolling my eyes. "Besides, your house is exactly the same as mine, so let's just go? Or are you happier being in solitary confinement?"

"Actually, I am, now that I think of it," he says, making me laugh. "Now that you've mentioned it, I'll just go, that okay with you?"

"No, never! I will never let you go," then whisper in his ear creepily, "never…" and then sneak up behind him. He starts walking, assuming I'm next to him or in front of him or whatever. After a while of being insanely quiet (oh, the advantages of being small and light), he actually looks around, saying, "Clove? Where are you?"

I tackle him to the ground, and I can tell I scared him. Like, a lot. "I told you I'd never let you go. Ever." And I laugh, holding his hand and pulling him up.

"Well, I was mistaken then," he says. "You actually are kind of small and annoying. Well, definitely small," he says, poking my in the stomach, "but annoying I could never fathom." He says it jokingly but for some reason it hurts me. I stick my tongue out at him and mask my emotions. I know he was joking and he didn't mean it badly.

Besides, I did just tackle him…

I laugh. "Where are we going, anyway? We've just kind of been wandering around for, like, the past ten minutes." Two's a big district, and despite living there my whole life, I still get lost occasionally.

"I don't know!" he says. "You're the one who screeched out my name this morning and said we're going somewhere this afternoon."

"Well, there is one thing I want to talk about," I say, "but let's go somewhere with a lot of fresh air, okay? I'm feeling a little… stuffy in my home."

His eyes narrow and I'm sure he knows. In the Academy, where both of us lived in dormitories for a couple of years, we were constantly monitored. I'm getting the same eery feeling in my new home and I'm almost sure that it's bugged. The phone line, too. "Yeah, me too," he says quietly.

Even here is too crowded to talk about. Sure, there's almost no one on this small pathway that we've managed to get ourselves on, but every once in a while someone does pass by. It's just… not safe.

"Maybe we should go to the orchard," I say. Okay, yeah, District Two isn't synonymous to District Eleven, but we do produce some food for the district. It's not like we rely completely on there. Sure, there are other things that we definitely can't produce here, like coal, but there's a lake where we get our water and occasionally even fish and we have a small array of solar panels for energy.

"That's a good idea. I'm sure it's very windy there, and we could even make a picnic," he observes. Translation: they won't be able to hear us there. Why don't we talk about something else now?

"That sounds like a good idea," I say honestly. "Maybe we should stop by Marty's and get some food and a picnic basket and a blanket and stuff."

Mist and Marty Sharpe are friends with pretty much all of the district. They're twins, and Marty owns a little shop at the edge of town where he sells, well… pretty much everything. They never trained to be victors, because their parents didn't have the money to send them to the Academy, but they're happy with their life already.

"Yeah. Good idea…," I say, trailing off. I can't help being a little off today. It's just… I may be getting into more trouble than I wanted to, here. And it's been troubling me ever since I got out of that Arena.

What would be the alternative, though? To see Cato die? I've never had a friend before and I haven't even seen my family enough to truly care for them, either (hauntingly enough) but I'm sure I'd be devastated if he did. I've known him long enough, at least, to know that we're – well – friends, I guess. No matter how strange the words sound, on the tip of my tounge, I know that it's true.

He stops and looks me right in the eye. He looks troubled. "Clove, what's wrong?" He looks the other way for a moment. "Is this one of the things that you'll have to tell me in the orchard?" Translation: did you do something bad? Are you in trouble? It happens sometimes, with victors.

Victors make an important mark on history because they're quite rare, only coming once each year. And they're important, too: the Capitol either falls in love with them or hates them, and all that power can be used for manipulation.

So yes, sometimes victors break laws. Say things that might encourage rebellion. And then they're punished, of course, because although they are victors it's not like they're gods. Or maybe they are, in their own special way, but they're still not immune to law-breaking.

"I'll tell you there," I say, and I feel a lump rising in my throat.

And so we walk on, in silence.

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**Ooh! Emotional! And yeah, I'm happy to say that there will be some Clato in the near future, but come on, Clove's never even had a friend or anyone to care about, there's going to be a loooooot of feelings to sort out... anyway, thanks for those two reviews! Yep! **

**Anyway, yeah, rebellion! Wooooosh!**

**And remember to review... I won't hold my story hostage but it's nice to see people reviewin'. :P *Looks to all of you with crazy eyes* MUAHAHAHAHAA! And yeah, thanks for reading? MUAHAHAHAHA!**


	6. Must-Read AN Seriously, read it

**Okay, guys, so this is just going to be an A/N, so if you want actual story, I'm sorry :(**

**BUT. Don't just skip this. If you like reading the story, KEEP ON READING. I'm not going to like, ragequit, because I love, love, love writing and I would never stop. But my schedule's been so busy lately, that I don't have time to update anymore. Again, I'm so sorry... :-(**

**However, that doesn't mean I'm abandoning you guys. Expect new chapters consecutively on Friday late-afternoon, Saturday morning, and Sunday morning. That's EST, so it might be different if you live elsewhere.**

**Anyway, that's all, but if I have a big project or something I will try to make it up with two chapters the next update-date. It's pretty possible, because school is getting really hard, although it only started a little while ago.**

**Anyway, yeah, love you guys and everyone that commented! :) Thanks for supporting me!**


	7. Chapter 6: The Cookie Crumbles

**Okay guysss! So. Yeah. It's CantBelieveThisStuffz and I'd like to say, I'm hoping that I'll get less busier and that I'll be able to update more often, but for now you will get 3 updates per week (Friday, Sat, Sunday) and they will be at least 1500 words all (I'm not sure yet how many words THIS ol' article here is; I haven't counted it yet using the Word Counter, but I'm guessing it's around 1000 if not less *gasp!*). Anyway, yeah, enjoy!**

**And... *Wink wink* I think you will. ;) Too soon? Give me your comments please...**

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**CHAPTER SIX: the cookie crumbles**

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It's nice to escape from it all.

The blaring lights, honking horns, the city – well, technically District – life. I've never been to a suburb or a farm, really, ever, unless you count those trying-to-be-cool residents who pretend like they don't live in a city and that they can do whatever they want.

It's a change, certainly. A big one at that. I don't go here often – as often – as I should. It's peaceful; the tinkling wind chimes and the trees. It's all very natural, being on the not-so-populated edge of the District, where it's hilly and honestly quite beautiful. I hear you can even go on horse rides. If you're really rich, that is – I don't think I've ever seen a horse before.

Although the mockingjays are singing and the trees create beautiful scenery, I just feel like melting down into my chair. And I do, in a way. I don't think I've ever let anyone see me cry, but I break down in that very moment. I start sobbing.

It feels like forever when I stop. Cato's blue eyes meet my gray ones. And they demand an answer. "Enobaria told me that Snow thinks I was promoting rebellion," I say quietly.

There. That's it, I dropped the pin. I swerve my head and study Cato's features. His eyebrows are knitted together and his face is ghostly both know what this means; there are whippings and executions at the square all the time.

"Well, this is bad," he says under his breath, followed by, "Why?". But he doesn't scream, he doesn't break out crying like me. He just sits there, contemplating this. What it will mean. What would happen if an actual rebellion were to happen.

"You know why," I say through bloodshot eyes. "I pulled out my knife, it was my fault. We could've died honorable deaths." Cato tries stroking my hair but I scream, "Stop trying to comfort me! Now they're going to execute all of us and all of the people we care about!"  
I look around frantically. Of course, this orchard's been empty. Who wants to visit a lonely, confusing old orchard when you can check out the hustle and bustle of city life? But there's gotta be someone here aside us.

"Nobody's there," Cato says, but it's obvious in his voice that he doubts it. Sure, a busy city day like this, everyone's out working and all, but the orchard's never really empty. The apples are starting to bloom and there are people to tend to the fruit. And what about little kids, too? Sometimes parents take their kids here if they don't work. There are a lot of people that could have came.

At least one. One, that's all it takes to exploit it all.

"I don't know what to do," I say quietly. Winning's great and all that, but it's not all it's made out to be. I've been harboring this information in my brain for a long time – Enobaria told me first thing. And her tone was so casual, so measured, but I heard the hidden rage.

Something tells me that she's been through this, too. The other victors also. I thought that most of the victors' bodies and minds went to waste not because of the trauma but because they're unfit for winning and the stress is eating them alive. Something like that, anyway. I always assumed that they were ashamed that they weren't from our District.

But does Snow give all of the victors a hard time? What about Finnick Odair, famous Capitol player extraordinare? What's his situation? You have to think, now that you're in this elite circle of winners, what happens next? Multiple victors have been seen in the Capitol dating, making out with, and hinting that they've gone farther, with some of the citizens there.

And you've gotta wonder – c'mon, who in their right mind would date one of those loons? Not me, for sure. But what about them, what's their deal?

Point is: what are they being forced to do, and why are they forced to do it?

"Let's go," I say briskly, interrupting the moment of silence. I don't care anymore. My sadness, my sobbing and my crying into Cato's shoulder, has transformed from a weakness into determined anger.

I won't become another one of the Capitol's toys. I'll make sure of that.

"No, what are you doing?" Cato asks impatiently. I stand, oblivious to what he's saying. Anger courses throughout my whole body. How could they do this? They made victory sound like all fun and games and gloating and pretending that you're all that and an apple. But it's not. I know that now.

And just as I'm about to say something about the Capitol, Cato stands up abruptly, puts his arms around my waist, and kisses me.

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**Shocking, isn't it? Don't worrryyy, they're not going to be all lovey-dovey just yet. There shalt be bumps. **

***SPOILER: Clove's gon be like, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARREEE SUCKA? And slap him. Literally.***


	8. Chapter 7: Shock and Headlines

**Alright, guys! So in a couple ways I'm happy about how this chapter turns out, because c'mon, running away and slapping Cato is exactly what I'd imagine her to do if she was real (although I'm sure she exists in all of our hearts and our cardboard cutouts and drawings) but in a few other ways this chapter is kinda... I dunno, weird. So please comment? :D What do you think? And no, no Clato yet *audience boos* but they allllll have to sort out their feelings.**

**COME ON, they're careers! Love at first sight doesn't exist for them! Sorry if you were expecting a fairytale, but they just murdered innocent children in a fight to the death... Don't worry, I AIN'T A HATEAAAA. I 3 Clove :D but she has some major feeling-sorting-out to get through. It has to be said.**

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**CHAPTER SEVEN: shock and headlines**

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What do I think about this? What do I say first? For a moment I just sit there numbly, staring into Cato's eyes. I blink. What just happened?

Oh, right. He kissed me.

Shock. That's what floods me first, and I think, Cato? Really? None of us at the Academy really cared about love or a love life, and none of us even thought that, even if we made it out of the arena alive, we'd ever find someone that we'd really, truly, love. Most of the married couples here in Two are solely matched for money. Love isn't useful, it isn't powerful. It just makes you all mushy-gushy, and the only good it does is perhaps give you an ally that might protect you.

And then anger. Why'd he just do that? I don't know, maybe he could say it first instead of just kiss me out of the blue? And why would Cato just – I don't know! The first thing I think of is to slap him.

And run, of course.

The expression on his face was priceless. Well, what'd he think I'd do? Give him an everlasting symbol of love and devotion?

"Wait! Clove!" I hear Cato's scream, from long behind me, and I stop in my tracks. He wants to talk to me? Well, of course he does, I think reasonably, it's not like he wouldn't discuss this after I well…

After I slapped him, and ran away without saying a word…

Suddenly I'm positive that my cheeks are about as red as the blooming apples that surround me, and I start running again.

Should I really do this? Is running away from my problems, not confronting them, not doing anything or even discussing them in the slightest, going to do anything for me?

I don't even know where I'm going. Home, I guess. But this orchard is pretty large and easy to get lost in, so I decide to head for the hills, where I'll at least be able to see most of the District and find my way back.

I'm strong, and I've been training all my life, but still running leaves me exhausted. It's got to be a mile or two before I finally fall. I pant wildly, and I'm exhausted. Plus I don't think I've eaten for a while. And sure, sure, I'm in an orchard surrounded by apples so call me an idiot if you'd like, but they're neither full-bloomed or legal to steal from, so whatever.

And I need water, too. Even in the Arena I've never truly, really been on the brink of starvation or dehydration. Sure, when the supplies blew up we were having a much harder time, but that doesn't mean that we were about to drop dead any second. We could hunt, and the lake supplied good water, and we had sponsors, so that was that.

I stare at the trees. Why'd Cato kiss me? I mean, come on, I'm not a social skills expert, but kissing someone that you're not related to usually means that you like them. Or love them, for that matter. The fact that Cato might actually be in love with me is dizzying.

What happened to "feelings-are-for-wimps" Cato? What happened to the Cato that laughed at the prospect of love, or ever finding it in the first place? It felt like the boy that I met so many years ago had changed drastically from the Arena to now, here, in the orchard.

It feels like I was staring into space for forever when I finally feel the need, the instinct, deep in me, to get walking – if I can't run then perhaps walk slowly, surely – find high ground, maybe to the river that separates the Lark Mountain District, where most of the miners live, to the richer part of town (although nobody's truly poor here and almost everyone knows about twenty different ways to kill someone, even if they weren't trained).

It's just such an odd feeling, I decide as I walk. I can already feel that the ground below my feet is slowly becoming more and more elevated and from here I can even see much farther than I could before. The trees stretch out in all directions for at least a mile or two. Usually visitors aren't allowed to come here, I guess, but we're victors, so who cares?

I keep on walking, because who knows what'll happen if I suddenly just stop to look at the scenery and I drop dead? There's always danger, especially here in the orchards where animals do occasionally come. And although they try to keep 'em out, it's hard to truly extinguish a species once and for all.

The thought of being mauled by a bear out here just makes me walk faster and more cautiously, occasionally looking back to the stony, mushy fields full of squirrels and birds and apples.

Suddenly my mind wanders back to Cato. Where is he? What is he doing now?

And of course what I've labeled in my mind "the Big Question", that I've debated endlessly, it seems, in my head since "It" happened. Why'd he kiss me? Why did he do it? Why didn't he just walk up to me and say, "Hey, Clove, I know that nobody in the world expected a heartless killer like me to say this, but I love you. Goodbye!"

Well, I guess that wouldn't exactly work. Like, at all.

I glance up to the sky again, a clash of reds and oranges and pinks, and I know that I'm not going anywhere until tomorrow.

And so once again, I'm ever-so-familiarly sleeping up in a tree, head balanced cautiously on one of the thick branches and feet wrapped around each other as to not fall. Of course I'm taking a risk, but I'm only about ten feet up and it's an even greater risk to sleep on the ground, so I guess I'm okay for now.

I imagine the headlines as I fall asleep, against my will, almost: "Victor Goes Missing", and then something along the lines of, "Love Between Victors"?

Oh, god. This is evolving into a nightmare. I never asked for this! But still, I can't help wondering… does he have a chance?

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**Heya again! So now that you've read this thaaang, what do you think? Way overboard or plausible? Review please :D and sorry for not doing the review-answer-things, but if you reviewed (and DauntlessClove, you alwaaays review so thank you SO much for that, you always make my day) and you know who you are if you review, give yourselves a pat on the back. Anyway, yeah, new chappie tomorrow... :D Did you like this one? For me writing this was kinda meeh... but tell me what you think.**


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